


Standoff

by AccidentallyTheWholeFanfic



Category: Harvest Moon, Harvest Moon: Back To Nature, Harvest Moon: Friends of Mineral Town
Genre: Drama, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 21:09:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6487462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AccidentallyTheWholeFanfic/pseuds/AccidentallyTheWholeFanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On opposite ends of a bitter winter, two young men find quiet little Mineral Town, and gradually grow closer: One, a gentle, shy drifter, determined to stop being a burden; the other, a kind-hearted farmer, determined to help him no matter what. Unfortunately for them, they're both steadfastly stubborn, and too proud to acquiesce. Who will win this standoff? Slash. M for later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Standoff

The dying days of December draped across Mineral Town in a muted splash of colors - a spectrum of brown and red that was washed out under a heavy gray downpour from the chilly, slate-hued skies. Autumn had persisted quite admirably that year in staving off winter's presence for as long as it could, but it was just about ready to finally take its long-overdue rest.

At the old farm on the western limits of the town proper, the desolate, choked fields ran thick with soggy, freezing mud, which was splashed up and onto the ragged boots and patched jeans of the soaked, lean young man who staggered over dead snarls of grass and clusters of tangled weeds. His shivering fingers clamped tightly to the straps of the knapsack hanging loosely off his back, and his brown ponytail was plastered into a clump between his shoulder blades now. Rivulets trickled down from the honey-hued tips of his hair, drip-drip-dropping off the hem of his clingy, sleeveless jacket.

With his free hand slicking his bangs away from his face, Cliff MacKenzie let loose another miserable sneeze, sniffling and hoping he'd come across a warm home hosting kind and generous faces sooner or later. Not to mention his first meal in days - no such luck thus far in his travels over the lonely winter holidays, with their purported spirit of giving and goodwill towards one's fellow man. No such luck with the dilapidated, boarded-up farmhouse to his left, either.

Not that he hadn't tried at least claiming it for shelter: His now-bleeding fingernails had chipped and torn in a few spots, trying to pry off the splintered plywood; and his bruised shoulder showed signs of ramming against the stubborn door, in the absence of any sort of lock-picking implements. Perhaps it was just his exhausted, ill state, but the place seemed ominously impregnable. And, in his superstitious, slightly-delirious mind, that meant it was probably for the best to just move along - nothing to see there, unless he had a death wish. And Cliff wasn't so sure he did, if he kept on moving, looking for shelter.

Still, perhaps he was simply stumbling forward on autopilot, in lieu of actually putting in any conscious effort - as far as he could tell, this was most likely the case. A lateral move, then, more than anything. Autopilot could switch off at any time, and then where would he be?

Then again, underdressed as he was for the impending winter, he hadn't exactly been terribly mindful of his own well-being lately - stupidly cavalier, if he were being honest with himself. The ground rose up to smack against his knees, as if to beat the point into him. His burning face quickly followed - at five-six, he didn't have terribly far to fall in the first place. His vision blurred and darkened.

No, not an _active_ death wish, at any rate.

He never did find out how long he lay face-down in the fields, planted in the mud and watered generously, as though he were expected to grow steadily over the next few months. The sky darkened from charcoal-gray to midnight blue as the freezing rain was phased out for a gentle snow.

When he awoke later that evening - to a warm bed, fresh clothes, and the relieved face of a friendly redhead - he quickly stammered out both thanks for the kindness and apology for the trouble in a quick jumble, his name rolling out somewhere in the mess of words. As if to embarrass him further, his stomach rumbled out its own greeting, causing him to cringe and clench at the sheets.

With a little chuckle, the girl - Ann Callahan, whose neighbor Rick had been the one to spot him - kindly patted him on his folded hands, telling him not to worry about a thing.

"...And, just curious... what _exactly_ were you doing out there in that weather anyway? All alone, and at this time of year!" She clucked her tongue sympathetically, sky-blue gaze growing thoughtful. "I mean, you look like you've been on the road... for... a while..."

At the sight of his dark blue eyes wavering only the faintest bit, the ghost of a furrow in his flushed brow, she let the inquiries drift away. Deciding to keep any further questions to herself for now, she then stood up from her bedside chair with a brisk clap and a fresh burst of natural sunshine:

"Well, Mr. Cliff, you've still got a pretty nasty fever - so rest up! My dad and I are gonna rustle up some nice soup and hot tea for you, on the house!" She paused at the door, hand resting on the doorknob as she turned back and nodded, the words coming out a bit vaguely: "...Feel better, alright?"

Cliff nodded wordlessly, though the gratitude warmed his stomach a bit, in a much more pleasant way than the feeling in his blazing cheeks and forehead.

This seemed to satisfy Ann for now, and she gave another smart nod. "Atta boy! Be back in a jiffy!" A sassy little salute to cap it off, and she was out of the room.

A steady diet of top-notch chicken soup and herbal tea kept Cliff's health on the upturn over the next few days as he grew familiar with the charming, rustic little inn out in the middle of small-town nowhere. Bitter gusts began to drift above the cobblestones and about the Tudor-style dwellings as the new year ushered in its promises of fresh starts. With the steady snow and the fussing of the Callahans - as well as from a sweet, gentle nurse from just across the street, stopping in to deliver some medicine to him - Cliff had a feeling he wouldn't be seeing the back of Mineral Town anytime soon.

In spite of the toasty warmth of his room, he felt a cold stab of guilt gnawing at his stomach once the realization crept up on him.

\------------------------

January and February slipped by in a peaceful sort of slumber, nearly everyone snuggled by roaring fires or beneath warm blankets as the snow piled up on their rooftops and ice glassed over their now-slippery streets. At the western edge of town, the farm with the signboard too faded to read was put into a glazed state of suspended animation, weeds and grass glittering in crystalline sleeves. Word about the town said that the previous owner's grandson would be arriving come spring to claim his inheritance of it, in all its dreadfully unkempt glory.

Nursed back to health and minding his modest stash of money - slightly dwindled at his own insistence to pay for room and board, despite the Callahans' protests - Cliff found himself rather hesitantly becoming acquainted with the residents beyond the doors of the inn. A few faces, he'd found familiar from the night crowd - a crew he'd chanced across periodically, when he'd slipped out in the bustle to crunch about the town on reflective, late-night walks that never seemed to really lead him anywhere in any sense. Nowhere except for the church he couldn't quite bring himself to enter, at least.

Still, he'd chanced across the pastor on at least two previous occasions - Carter Finnigan, a kind-hearted blond man always to be found in calming black, exuding compassion and a bit of joviality. Perhaps sensing a bit more than just garden-variety shyness in Cliff's sweet-natured, yet guarded demeanor, he extended an invitation to the young man to drop by the church anytime he liked. "I'm always glad to lend an ear, or just chit-chat," he'd assured with an easy and earnest smile, emanating a sense of grace.

Ann and her father, Doug - stern, yet kind behind his no-nonsense mustache - hadn't made much in the way of progress in drawing out anything of the quiet vagabond's story, either. They were simply left to watch and wonder as he headed out to who-knew-where every few nights, faces betraying their concern while they wondered when or if he would even return that night, and the next, and the next. He wasn't unkind, but - as a few of the other townsfolk started to notice - he seemed content to remain at arm's length to everyone, even when he began timidly approaching some of the more cordial residents to ask about odd jobs.

In the midst of winter, options were slim with no permanent positions open at any of the local businesses - at most, he had his pick of dog-sitting, light housekeeping, shelf-stocking, and the like. A hand-to-mouth errand boy from nowhere, his only other option being to mine ore by himself, with little to no prior experience in the craft.

He'd decided against it - the old blacksmith didn't look like he took kindly to screw-ups. The suspicion was only confirmed when the man's taciturn grandson moved in, becoming Cliff's roommate and taking on the mines himself. Cliff silently took in all too many stories about the old man's failings as a human being from the frustrated strawberry-blond, in turn offering sympathetic hums and gentle apologies at the right intervals.

On the other hand, a prodding question or two later, Gray Donaghue also learned that Cliff was nowhere near as vocal about his own troubles. He supposed he didn't mind terribly - a sympathetic ear was a sympathetic ear, all the same, and Cliff had shown himself to be a pleasant enough roommate.

Cliff soon found that if he measured his funds out carefully, he could wait out his options until spring rolled in, at least - and that was _with_ the generosity the Callahans had offered on his discounted rent and food, in spite of his protests that he couldn't do that to them. Nonetheless, he'd eventually buckled - all the while wondering if they, too, felt like he was reluctantly taking advantage of their all-too-willing kindness.

Still, with the countryside being nestled under a heavy quilt of snow, and the nearest towns miles off with hazy employment prospects... he really had no other choice. Not for the time being.

One overcast February morning, heaving a bitter sigh as the guilt continued to gnaw at the pit of his stomach, he slipped into the silent, welcoming church.

\------------------------

February gradually died out amid a series of raw, blustery gusts that did little to blow away the melting mounds and sheets of white slush dotting Mineral Town. Still, the harsh wind carried with it an early arrival in the middle of one cloudy morning, the young man stepping off the ferry with a polite bow and a little chuckle as he thanked the captain.

With a shaky breath as his nerves started creeping about once more, Jack Braden's sneakers crunched across the salt-crusted wood of Mineral Town's pier a few weeks ahead of schedule, with all he owned confined to two suitcases - one swinging from his left hand, and the other rolling along behind him with the handle clasped in his right. His breath clouded out before him in the cold air - it certainly wasn't the ideal time to start, but it would have to do.

The Mayor certainly wouldn't have been expecting him this early, but he'd hopefully have no qualms with it overall. Jack, at the very least, had a feeling he wouldn't mind if preparations weren't entirely complete yet - he had time to handle everything himself, now. Plenty of time.

Stopping in the middle of the empty Rose Square and looking about with his brow knit - trying to recall places and names - he heard a crunch of boots on snow off to his right, and looked over with a friendly smile.

The stranger - slightly short and lean, his brown hair tied back into a loose tail - gave him a polite nod and a small smile of his own, stopping a good distance away. His hands were jammed in the pockets of his borrowed blue windbreaker. "...Umm... hi," he began slowly, getting the greeting kindly returned. "...Can... can I help you...?"

Rubbing a bit at the short, wavy, chestnut-colored mop sticking out from under his black knit cap, Jack let out an affirmative hum. "Well - maybe! I'm looking for Mayor Harrison's house. Would you know where it is?"

The other boy nodded once more, shoulders hunched a bit - whether against the cold, or just out of instinct, Jack wasn't quite sure. "W-well... I'm just heading back to the inn, but he lives close by. Err, follow me?" the stranger finished, more uncertain request than instruction, but shortly hearing the second pair of footsteps fall slightly out-of-sync beside his own.

"Thanks - Jack, by the way," Jack greeted, gloved hand stuck out awkwardly, with the suitcase wedged under his arm. The other man eyed his hand for a moment, before hesitantly taking it in a firm, quick shake.

"Cliff."

Jack smiled at him. "Good to meet you, Cliff - thanks for helping me out," he added, as they stopped at a street running perpendicular to the path by the inn. A few humble little houses sat in a neat line down the other side of the street - a ways off to his right, he could make out the church, and the graveyard. Feeling a slight pang in his chest, he instead turned back to let his eyes wander past the clinic and supermarket, right down the arm and the fingertip Cliff pointed in the direction of the next house over. The sight of so many warmly-lit, snow-crusted windows before them was like a scene from a Christmas postcard.

"...He lives right there," Cliff informed him, to which Jack nodded brightly.

"Alright, thank you again, Cliff! You've been a huge help," he said, getting a wry grin and a shrug in return. "Well... I'll be off! Err, by the way," he added curiously, looking up at the inn, "do you live around here?"

Cliff's gaze also settled on the rustic, two-story establishment that had become something akin to his temporary home and unorthodox sanctuary over the past two or so months, breath blossoming out into an icy cloud from his lips. Once again, his stomach twisted in discomfort. "I... err - yeah, I guess." He swallowed, his doubt unnoticed by the somewhat-taller boy. "Y-yeah. I... I live... around here."

"Well," Jack said, giving him a gentle yet cheerful nudge with his elbow, "so do I, as of today! Down there," he added at Cliff's confused look, letting go of his wheeled suitcase to point in the opposite direction of the street they'd just been facing. Cliff's eyebrows shot up a bit as he realized Jack was pointing past the white lawn and bare trees surrounding the inn, off to the farm a good ways down - its distant barn was barely visible behind the relatively large building right beside them.

Without waiting for a response, Jack sucked in a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. "You've probably heard-" And Cliff couldn't honestly recall that he had, but stayed courteously silent, "-but I - I inherited that place." He paused, his smile hitching somewhat with the slight gleam in his warm brown eyes. "From my grandpa."

And, somewhere in Cliff's mind, a little light clicked on. "...I see," he said softly, shoulders feeling a bit heavy under the sudden, solemn weight of the air - a faint but noticeable shift he couldn't quite place. Even as his mind raced, as he watched Jack worry at his lower lip with his softened gaze transfixed on the farm, Cliff was at a loss for further words.

Not that Jack seemed to mind much - with a final nod, his somber demeanor brightened back up, and he shot Cliff another grateful smile. "Alright, well... I'll see you around! Thanks again, Cliff!" he added once more.

Cliff hummed in faint agreement, giving Jack little more than a cursory glance and a cordial, "Nice to meet you," before slipping back into the Juniper Inn. After sparing a curious, backwards glance to the closing door and shrugging casually, Jack strode off down the street, coming to a stop at the Mayor's door. Steeling himself, he exhaled through his nostrils and knocked softly, ready for the questions he would undoubtedly hear in mere moments.

The door creaked open with an exclamation of pleasant surprise from the stout, balding figure of Mayor Thomas Harrison, greeting the young man with a warm air and ushering him in for soup and cocoa. As a smiling Jack graciously accepted the invitation, the seams of the thick clouds began to fray. Eventually, soft drizzles gave way to a freezing, late-February downpour that pulverized the diminishing piles of colorless slush heaped around Mineral Town.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, it's true - I've gone even daffier than usual and decided to try juggling three stories at once. This one, however, I think promises to be shorter than "Shadows" and "Unearthed" - as well as being more character-focused, rather than adventure-oriented. I've been wanting to try something with Jack and Cliff for a good while now (and return to Mineral Town, as I was starting to miss it), and this idea recently solidified in my mind. Hopefully, I can do it justice! The writing style in this chapter is a bit new for me, but we'll see how it works out.
> 
> Special advance thanks to Show The Cook Some Love on FFnet for the spot-checking and sound-boarding! And for helping pick the title!
> 
> I hope you all enjoy! Fee free to leave feedback, if you'd like, and I'll see you in chapter 2!


End file.
